The Brass Ring
by L.M.Lewis
Summary: How Mark dealt with some not-so-great expectations.


Disclaimer: These are not my characters and I make no profit from them.

**Author's Note: **In episode thirteen of the first season, "Third Down and Twenty to Life", Hardcastle returns to the ivy-covered halls of his former alma mater to give a guest lecture to a criminal justice class. While there he is confronted by Gina Longren, a student whose brother, Kenny, was convicted of murdering a fellow quarterback on the school's team. Gina doesn't believe her brother had a fair trial in Hardcastle's old courtroom. When a mysterious heavy tries to kidnap her from campus in broad daylight, the ever-alert ex-judge has his suspicions aroused. He enrolls Mark as an undergrad to get the inside lane on the case. After much investigating and car chasing—and one further murder—they pin the rap on the team's coach, finally exonerating Kenny.

Much ado is made in this episode about the contrast between metal-shop grad, McCormick, and the bright young things who attending college. Mark even protests when Hardcastle signs him up as a student. Back then who was to guess that he would be enrolled in law school a mere two years later?

**The Brass Ring**

by L.M. Lewis

**Hardcastle**: These kids are the future scientists and engineers, doctors and lawyers—

**McCormick**: The future pain in the neck magistrates is what they are.

**Hardcastle**: I know you didn't get any closer to college than delivering pencils to the loading dock but these kids have got big dreams. Now, they know there's a brass ring out there and they're gettin' in line to grab it.

**McCormick**: I'll tell you what, Judge, why don't you forget the casual look and just wear your powdered wig. (Scene two, "Third Down and Twenty to Life")

_**Four years later…**_

Mark was trying to remember if he'd had one too many beers the night he'd promised Hardcastle he'd help him with "straightening up in the file room" during his winter break. Maybe it wasn't beer, but he certainly hadn't been in his right mind at the time. There's no way he could have otherwise forgotten just what these projects entailed.

He wasn't sure if things always looked worse before they looked better, but he was pretty sure they now qualified for the first half of that saying. There were stacks of files on every flat surface, a cardboard box half full of clippings, and the tail end of the Aunt's annual fruitcake mailing, with two cups of cold coffee, over on the cabinet closest to the door.

They'd been at it since breakfast, with only a quick halt for lunch and then the fruitcake refueling at a quarter after two—now an hour back. Still, weren't even halfway through.

The problem was that every file was a story, even the ones Mark had somehow managed to miss thus far in their partnership. And the ones that he _did_ have more than a passing familiarity with, well, those required at least a momentary comparing of notes—which sometimes led to a full-fledged mutual reminiscence. Mark had decided he'd be grateful if they just made it to 'M' by dinner, and there was no way he was letting Hardcase talk him into resuming the task this evening.

He shoved the last file back into the H-I-J drawer and pushed it shut with a satisfying thud. He glanced over his shoulder at the judge, sitting perched on a stool peering into yet another file.

"Okay, Kemosabe, 'K-L-M'—the big push. We're quitting when we get to me, got it?"

"Hmm," Hardcastle murmured without looking up from what he was reading.

"Whatcha got there?" Mark asked, cocking his head sideways to read the name on the file. "Hey, Kenny Longren. I got a Christmas card from him." He paused awkwardly. He strongly suspected that Hardcastle had gotten no such greeting from the man he'd sent to prison, even if he had spearheaded the play that got him back out again.

But the judge made no comment. He didn't seem to be even briefly distracted from the file itself. A long moment passed before he finally lifted his head, blinked, and looked around.

"Helluva long way down memory lane," Mark commented dryly, tipping a nod toward the file still in Hardcastle's hands.

"Oh, this?" The judge lifted it with a shrug. "Just thinkin' that's all."

"Well, you fixed that one up, case closed. Oughta go in the 'over and done with' drawer down there on the bottom." Mark pointed decisively in that direction.

Hardcastle shut the file and handed it to him. Then he narrowed his eyes slightly as Mark did the filing honors.

"What?" Mark asked as he turned back and encountered that expression. "You think there's an uncrossed 't' in that one? Kenny's gotten on with his life. Fletcher pleaded guilty and got a couple of twenty-year sentences."

"Nah," Hardcastle grimaced slightly. "What's done is done—and I wasn't expectin' a Christmas card from the guy. It's just—" He shut his mouth abruptly on whatever was still bothering him.

Mark wasn't used to this. When either one of them had an issue, it was usually right out there on the table, at least since a year-and-a-half back, when Mark had finally owned up to being a law student.

"Must've seemed kind of funny to you then," the judge finally muttered, "me telling you about all those college kids having the right stuff."

"Well, ah . . ."

"Come on, kiddo," Hardcastle sighed in exasperation, "I can do the math. You must've already had quite a few credit hours socked away even then." He frowned. "What I was wondering was how come you figured you had to keep your mouth shut about that?"

Mark felt a wry half-smile tugging at his face. "There was a lot you didn't know about me, Judge."

It was very nearly a direct quote, and Hardcastle probably recognized the source, since it was himself.

"Okay," the older man grumbled, "maybe neither one of us was all that forthcoming back then."

Mark heard the slightest rising emphasis on the last word. Of course 'back then' hadn't been all that long ago for him. He'd kept his secret right up until the last possible moment, months into his law school career, and even then he'd only revealed it under some serious pressure. He supposed Hardcastle might be trying to encourage a little more retrospective honesty.

He cast a long, regretful look at the 'over and done with' drawer, followed by a glance up at the clock on the wall. It was too early to call it quits and head upstairs to knock some dinner together.

"And that whole thing with the American History exam," Hardcastle pondered on, "You scribbling the crib notes on your arm—those were some pretty crappy notes, by the way—"

"Convinced _you_, didn't it?" Another sly smile was creeping up on Mark's face.

Hardcastle looked flummoxed. "I don't get it."

"I suppose not," Mark sighed. "I know you sure as hell wouldn't have gotten it _then_." He shook his head. "I'd been around here, what, three months, when that Longren thing came up."

"Yeah, 'bout that." The judge frowned again and asked, "What's that got to do with anything?"

"Listen, you were absolutely right back then. I didn't know you and you sure as hell didn't know me. Why on earth I trusted you even half as much as I did, I will _never_ get."

"Maybe 'cause I was a nice guy—kinda the trustworthy type." Hardcastle flashed a smile.

"The first thing to go is the memory, Judge," Mark said. His own cautious smile was still there to soften what he said next. "You probably don't remember how many times you said 'my way or the highway'. Only it wasn't usually the highway you were talking about. Hell, it was only the week before that you told me it was San Rio or San Quentin."

He watched Hardcastle mouth the words silently, looking down at the toes of his sneakers. He must have remembered that one. He jerked his chin up with a hint of defiance.

"Well, you know I didn't _mean_ it."

"How was I supposed to be sure? I was the guy who didn't know a lot of stuff about you, remember?"

Hardcastle's frown stayed in place, but he did nothing else to refute the charge. Instead he sighed again and admitted, "Okay, so maybe I was trying the steer the boat a little hard. I didn't know all that much about you, either. But why would that make you lie about going to school? I still don't get that part."

Mark eased back in his chair, consciously trying to lighten the increasing tension. He put his feet up on the table and tipped the chair back, just slightly.

"Look," he said, "it started with you trying on ties, remember that?"

He paused for a moment but all he got was a headshake from Hardcastle. It had been four years.

"Well, you were" Mark assured him, "and I said you were sweating the details too much. You didn't even need a tie, and half the kids wouldn't even be listening . . . which I knew from personal observation, I'll have you know," he added with a touch of supercilious humor.

"And then you said something about how all college kids were geniuses, and hardworking to boot," Mark shook his head, "unlike yours truly." He indicated himself with a quick, casual gesture.

"So why didn't you just tell me I was full of beans?" Hardcastle asked. It sounded like simple honest curiosity. "We argued about stuff all the time; that much I remember."

Mark leaned back a little further. It was easier than he thought, recapturing exactly how he'd felt, but harder by far to put it into words.

"I only knew one thing for sure back then," he finally said, in a tone of dead seriousness, "and that was that I didn't know anything for sure." He gave the judge a long, hard stare but saw not an inkling to indicate that he'd explained himself to the older man.

"I wasn't even sure what the rules _were_, let alone which ones were made to be broken."

"You weren't scared of me," the judge said disbelievingly.

"Probably not as scared as I should have been. And when you started in about how I'd barely made it out of auto-shop and wasn't fit to carry pencils for those prodigies, I got mad."

He thought about that for a moment and then added, "There must've been two things I knew for sure, because the second one was that when I got that mad, I needed to go outside and clip some hedges." He glanced up and ventured a hesitant smile. "Which I figured was why you sometimes said stuff to get me mad.

"But you know," he added a shrug, more nonchalant than he felt, "I wasn't going to college back then to prove anything to anybody . . . not to _you_, anyway," he insisted, with more emphasis than certainty. "So I snapped off some smart remark and walked out."

He sighed. It sounded stupid, even to him, and he'd been the guy who'd done it. "Maybe I let you go on thinking I was a motorhead, but it was only because that's what you'd pegged me for. I guess I must've figured that was what you wanted, and it was easier, _safer_, being what you expected me to be."

He was aware that he'd been going on for a while, with no interruption. He paused again, waiting for a retort and then feeling a twinge of guilt that the judge wasn't providing any, just studying him.

"The arrow of time," Mark said quietly.

"Huh?"

"It only goes one way. You can never go back and not have convicted Kenny Longren the first time. I can't ever go back and trust you right from the start."

Hardcastle seemed to give that a moment or two of thought and then said, "Guess not."

"But you eventually got him unconvicted," Mark pointed out.

The judge nodded judicially then shot him a sharp look. "And you eventually came clean about the brass ring you had in your pocket."

"Just took me a little longer." Mark grinned.


End file.
